The lecture hall felt enormous once everyone else had gone. Rows of empty desks stretched up toward the back walls like silent judges, the late-afternoon sun slanting through the high windows and cutting sharp golden lines across the floor. The air still carried the faint chemical smell from the whiteboard markers Professor Harlan used for reaction mechanisms, mixed with the lingering traces of coffee and perfume from two hundred students who had sat here an hour ago.
I stood just in front of the first row, clutching my midterm like it was a death sentence. A thick red 42 was circled at the top, and beneath it, in his precise, slanted handwriting: See me after class.
Professor David Harlan was still at the podium desk, stacking the last of the graded exams with deliberate care. He was fo
